


Engelsgesicht

by purple_flan



Category: Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Family Issues, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21705430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_flan/pseuds/purple_flan
Summary: I don't really know what to  say about this work.I had previously already published it here on AO3, but decided to take it down and repost it again since I still wasn't satisfied with the result; you know, this has always been one of the couples I've always been the most "attached" to, and I wanted to write something that could do it justice.I might even write some more "mature" stuff with them in the future, if I ever feel like it.Like seriously, Daigo is an hottie. Both he and his son, actually.AN: "Engelsgesicht" means "angelface" in German. I first named this fic "Rosenrot" after the Rammstein song, but decided to change it into something more fitting to the form it was taking.
Relationships: Gouenji Shuuya/Senguuji Daigo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Engelsgesicht

Ishido Shuuji. A name, a curse.

Daigo Senguuji simply couldn’t help it: every time he was near that man, he was overwhelmed by all kinds of different feelings.  
For a long time, he had wondered what it was that he felt in his heart, when his sight caught a glimpse of the faint shimmering of the gemstone earrings he wore, or his stare crossed paths with the one coming from that pair of deep black eyes, or the swishing sound of his blond hair or the scarf around his neck reached his ear; be it fascination, admiration, concern.  
Or be it another feeling, one so distant in time he had forgotten what it could mean to him. The last time he recalled having experienced something similar, he was still a young man in an 80’s Dresden, when -maybe by fate, maybe by chance- he had met the woman who would have become his wife; his son’s mother, she who had sworn to love him for the rest of their lives and yet had betrayed him the moment she had discovered what foolish dreams her husband was fostering.  
Still, he held no grudges against her: they had kept in touch for a while since Daigo had left Germany to pursue his ambition -or delusion? – of creating a soccer that was equal for everybody; but over time, even he wasn’t sure whether he was feeling anything for her anymore.  
Day after day, year after year, their love had slowly withered away until it had almost dissolved, like flowers left to die without water. The only thing that seemed to bind them together nevertheless was the love for Yamato, the child they had so long wished for and that Daigo had vowed to raise at the best of his abilities; he was just a toddler when they had moved to Japan, and his father was the one who had decided to take the responsibility of raising him by himself.  
Of course, it hadn’t been an easy choice: but Daigo didn’t have the heart of forcing his son to continuously pinball between one country and the other just to see a woman who, anyway, had become nothing more than a stranger to him.  
For his part, Yamato had always felt like his father was his one and only real parent: it was him who had watched him grow, take his first steps, learning how to write and read and most important, how to kick a ball; sometimes, he jokingly reminded him of how much he used to laugh when he saw his son in the garden getting up on his rickety legs and trotting towards a soccer ball which was around the size of his head, trying to kick it and yet failing miserably each time.  
He didn’t seem to be concerned about who his mother was; that was an argument he and his father had seldom discussed of. Who knew, maybe all he had left of her were a few blurry memories, too faint to even try and collect them. Or maybe, he was too scared of appearing unconfident in his father’s eyes, too scared of seeming doubtful in all the hard work Daigo had done to raise him, too scared of making him unjustly question his role as a parent…

But now, Daigo too was scared of his feelings: now that the weird affection he was nurturing for that young man had turned into something greater, something painful and yet pleasant at the same time.  
He suffered from love, and yet loved to suffer; he lived for that now familiar sting in his heart whenever he got close enough to his (could he even say that?) Holy Emperor, fighting hard to hide his gaze from the one of the other men in the throne chamber.  
Oh, if only they knew-he asked himself-, what name would they give to the light in his eyes?  
Lust? Lechery? Greed?  
Oh no, if only it were so easy! Those words were far, _far_ too kind!  
But one thing he feared more than the scolding glare of Ishido’s court: his own son’s eyes, even those gorgeous blue eyes gave him the impression of wanting to dig into his very soul, in search for the reason behind his father’s torment.  
He dreaded the day Yamato would have realized what caused his sleepless nights ( _“just some issues at work, don’t worry about it”_ he had reassured him) and his worried looks when he stood by the throne, the rare times he had brought his son to work with him ( _“one day you too will understand how difficult this job is, Yamato!”_ ).  
And then? What would have his dear Yamato done, if he ever found out? Scream? Or cry? Or shout in his face how disgusting of a father he was? Or would he just have stood there, paralyzed and silent for some never-ending seconds, only to let the sound of the door slamming as he stormed away speak for himself?  
He didn’t want to know, but he was sure that, sooner or later, he would have had to: Yamato was smart, and no matter how cruel, this twisted play couldn’t go on forever.  
And in fact, that was his only hope: finding an opportunity to finally end the games for good. Be it one way or the other, it was surely better than living in eternal doubt.

And at some point, that opportunity came.  
  


It had been a day like any other, just another day in his office on the most secluded side of Fifth Sector’s HQ.  
Ishido liked it there: it was peaceful and secure, especially since the few people who had access to it were himself, his most trustworthy men and of course, Senguuji-sama; being the Holy Emperor had granted him many privileges, of which some he had been able to retain even after his abdication.  
He was busy with some duties (which, in all honesty, he would have gladly got rid of- maybe later, he would ask his secretary to handle them for him…), when a knock on the door broke the room’s quiet.  
“Come forward!” he exclaimed; a man, who he recognized as one of the former Emperor’s guards, walked into the office.  
“Ishido-san, Senguuji-sama sent me here”.  
The young man wasn’t surprised: after all, it was normal for his advisor to use his men to give him important communications. That was just praxis, nothing more, nothing less.  
“What does he want?”.  
“He told me he has some vital information to give you, my Emperor. Information I haven’t been made aware of”.  
“Tell him I’m busy at the moment, I will go to his office later”.  
The guard averted his gaze. “Senguuji-sama isn’t on duty today”.  
  
Hearing this, the blonde suddenly turned towards the man. “What did you just say?”.  
It definitely wasn’t likely of Senguuji to stay home from work: he was an advisor after all, one of the most important charges in the court of Fifth Sector since the Emperor could have needed him anytime.  
“He says if you want to discuss the matter with him, you may find him at his house this evening; he asked for you to meet him at…dinner time”.  
The situation kept on getting weirder to Ishido’s eyes: however, it wouldn’t have been wise of an Holy Emperor to refuse a meeting with such a pivotal figure as Senguuji.  
“Inform him I should come by 8 o’clock” he spoke in a seemingly unphased voice, which would nevertheless have betrayed some surprise to more attending ears.  
“As you wish, my Lord” the guard answered and left with a curtsey, leaving the Emperor to wonder what could his advisor want from him.

The hot wind of May, early bringer of summer, softly shook the roses at the sides of the mansion’s gate; that old, yet still imposing home didn’t seem to fit among the few humbler houses whose lights could be seen in the distance, just like the boy on the porch felt awkward at his father’s side, dressed in that uncomfortable black suit which made him look way older than his fourteen -almost fifteen- years.  
“You look handsome, Yamato” he had reassured him. “With looks like those, you could make any girl fall for you”.  
He nodded unconvinced, standing there without knowing what to do. He had been simply told that an important visitor should have come over, and to act on his best behaviour; that was, be polite and smile ( _but not all the time_ , Daigo had cleared, _if you don’t want to look creepy_ ) and, if the guest asked for something, always answer and go take it for him. He knew the drill.  
But that time, it was different: the apprehensive air in his father’s stare couldn’t tell him otherwise; he would have wanted to ask him what he was so worried about, even if he already knew the answer he would (not) have given him.  
“Something wrong, dear?” Daigo said, noticing his son’s eyes fixed on him. _Oh, how ironic…  
_“Nothing”. He gazed at the evening sky again, then turned towards the man by his side.  
“Dad, can I ask you a weird question?”.  
“What is it?”.  
Yamato gathered all of his resolve to finally utter what he had never dared to; but before he could open his mouth, the rumble of a car’s engine silenced whatever he was going to say.

 _“He’s here”_ the man muttered, his voice a mix of relief and trepidation. “Go, Yamato. Wait for us in the hall”.  
Although perplexed, the boy did not question his father’s command; as he was expected to, he walked inside their house and closed the door behind him, while his father walked across the garden to greet the blond man getting out of his car.

As he watched him approach the house’s entrance, his doubts and worries started to overwhelm him again.  
_“What should I do now? Should I greet him from here, and wait for him to walk up to me? Or should I lead him to the door? Should I put an hand on his shoulder, or shake his hand? Or should I hug him, and kiss him on the cheek? Oh, no…if I did, I don’t know if I could keep myself from kissing something other than his cheek…”.  
_“Come, it’s open!” he called out; Ishido nodded and, after pushing the iron gate aside, stepped into the courtyard. Daigo, already waiting for him on the other side, saluted him by shaking his hand, and pulling him in a half-hug.  
“Oh” Ishido muttered, unsure. “I didn’t expect such a …warm welcome, Sir”.  
“Oh, sorry; that’s just how we greet our guests in Europe. Did I…unsettle you, Ishido?”.  
“Don’t mind me” the man answered, kindly lifting his host’s arm from his shoulder. “May I follow you inside, now?”.  
Daigo smiled. “Sure. We were waiting for you, my dear”.  
Although baffled by that unexpectedly affectionate appellation, Ishido smiled back; however, the uncertainness in his expression was enough to make Daigo regret his words once again.

Once the door was opened, Ishido immediately found himself in the house’s hall, right below the big chandelier which lit up the whole room in a fair yellow light.  
The young man looked around, admiring the neat yet somewhat decadent appearance of the mansion’s interior; at the Senguujis' place everything, from the cerulean wallpaper to the small damasked couches, gave the impression of coming from a past century: he felt as if he was living in an antique photo.  
He was so absorbed by the old-fashioned furniture that he almost didn’t notice the teen in a dark suit standing in a corner until he walked up to Daigo’s side, waiting for his father to introduce him to their guest.  
“Ishido-san, this is my son. Yamato, this is Ishido”. He lovingly smiled to the boy, as he rose his hand towards the young man’s.  
The blond observed him, startled.  
Despite his meek appearance, something about his eyes betrayed him: they were cold, almost spiritless, but he could swear he had seen something sparkle in them when Daigo had mentioned his name; and it certainly wasn’t something good.  
“Don’t worry, he’s a sweet kid. He just gets a little nervous when he’s with strangers”.  
Ishido glared at his host, then back at the boy. Maybe he was right: _after all, he’s his father: he must know better,_ he thought.  
“The dining room is this way” the man said, as he guided his guest up the wooden staircase leading to the upper floor; the Holy Emperor followed him, still gazing at the pale lights gracefully dancing on the walls.  
Behind them, Yamato gave Ishido a small grin; but when his father turned around, it quickly disappeared from his face.

The three sat at the table, laden with dishes Ishido had never seen before.  
“I thought you would have been interested in having a taste of some typical German cuisine”. Daigo smiled, as he sliced up some meat to serve it to the man in front of him.  
Ishido couldn’t help but noticing his hands were shaking.  
“Enjoy your meal” he proclaimed, sitting back to his place; the Holy Emperor thanked him, and the diners finally began eating.  
“So…Yamato, do you like soccer too?”.  
The boy stared at the young man, trying not to betray his annoyance. Why the hell was this complete stranger attempting to engage in such casual conversation?  
“Yeah”. He was about to stick his fork back in his slice of stew, when a stern look from his father made it clear to him that he’d better keep talking, even if he had no intention of.  
“I like guarding the goal best. It’s nice to know the whole team relies on you”.  
“Isn’t it a little stressful?” Ishido asked.  
“Just a little. But I’ve done worse stuff”.  
“For example?”.  
Yamato smirked, pointing at a chessboard on a little table in the corner.  
“Oh, I see!”. He turned towards Daigo, and whispered. “I knew your kid was a clever one”.  
The man gazed at his son. “He is. I’m so proud of him”.  
To both men’s surprise, Yamato didn’t smile back. “ _Yeah, sure_ ” he murmured, hoping nobody would hear him.  
Ishido looked at him, a hint of sadness in his eyes; Daigo, on the contrary, simply brushed it off.  
“Bah, teenagers…the most complicated species on Earth!”. He snickered, downing another sip of wine from his glass.  
Ishido wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, as something in Daigo’s voice seemed to betray his concern; and that was the moment he noticed the look his son was giving him.  
If stares could kill, Daigo would have already dropped on the floor: and if the Holy Emperor’s ears didn’t fail him, he could swear he heard him uttering something he couldn’t decipher, either to his father or simply to himself.  
Hoping he could ease that heavy atmosphere, Ishido resolved to going back to the conversation.  
“Do you miss Germany, Yama-”.  
The teen didn’t even let him finish: rolling his eyes, he got up from the table and stomped out of the room.  
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?!” Daigo shouted, as he leaned forward to grab his son’s arm; but Yamato had already slammed the door behind him, and both Daigo and Ishido could hear him rushing up the stairs to his bedroom.  
“Yamato…”.  
For some seconds, the man remained motionless; then, he cowered in his chair, an hand covering his mouth.  
“Senguuji-sama, is everything all right?”. Ishido stood worried by his side: even in his proud spirit, he couldn’t help but feeling guilty, as if he was the one at fault for causing that unpleasant situation.

  
Suddenly, he felt a strong hand clutching his: Daigo was now standing on his feet, his eyes were as dark as a stormy sky as he stared into Ishido’s. The confident, charismatic man who had greeted him into his house was no more: his place had been taken by that sombre, fearful figure whose hands kept shaking as they gript onto Ishido’s shoulders, his lips moving as if he was struggling to get some sound, any sound, to come out from his throat.

“Senguuji-sama?”.  
“F-Forgive me, Ishido” he finally muttered. “If only I had known…I wouldn’t have dragged you into this mess”.  
Ishido gulped. “It’s…it’s all right, Senguuji-sama. I’m sure your son didn’t mean- “.  
He couldn’t finish: Daigo was now holding his face, lifting it towards his own.  
“You still don’t understand, do you?”. _  
_ “Wh…what…?”.  
Ishido was the one who couldn’t speak now: the pressure on his cheeks was so strong it was almost hurting him.  
Daigo stared down on him, smiling bitterly, their faces closer than what they’d ever been.  
_It’s done_ , the man thought. _At long last, it’s done._ _I can’t go back now… not anymore._  
He sighed. “Ishido-san, I … “.

Just then, a phone rang.  
It took a while for the young man to recognize it as his own: he remembered having asked for his chauffeur to come pick him up after one hour. But how was he expected to answer, with Senguuji’s hands constricting the sides of his face and his heart pumping in his throat?  
They stared at each other for several long seconds, a mixture of tension and shame in both their gazes.  
Unexpectedly, the man began to loosen his grip: after what seemed like an eternity, his hands moved away from Ishido’s jowls as he backed off, worriedly waiting for his guest to catch air.  
He watched Ishido struggle to take the cell phone out of his pocket and hold it to his ear, trying his best to sound calm after what had happened.  
“Hello? Have you arrived? Y-yes, I’m going outside in a minute. Wait for me where you left me when we got here”.  
“I…I can accompany you, Ishido-san” Daigo stuttered.  
Ishido rose his gaze at him. “No, it’s…it’s really not necessary. I can do it by myself”.  
He opened the door, giving one last look to the older man. “Say good night to Yamato for me, Senguuji-sama”.  
With those words the Holy Emperor walked away from the mansion, without looking back even once.

Like a blade piercing through his already overwhelmed heart, the thought of his son momentarily distracted Daigo from his confounded anguish. _Yamato…_  
What was he doing now? Maybe he should have checked on him, to see if he was all right or, at least, to comfort him…well, hoping that his son would even want to talk to him after what had happened.  
That was when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.  
He peeked through the half-opened door and, to his surprise, there he was: Yamato, now dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, his eyes low and a backpack under his arm.  
“Darling…”.  
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”, his son replied, impassive.  
Daigo hesitated, he too coming to terms with the fact that Ishido was no longer in the house. “Yes…he’s gone, Yamato. Ishido is gone”.  
The teen rose his gaze, finally crossing his father’s. Daigo noticed the white in his eyes had turned into a pale shade of pink.  
“Well, guess it’s better like this. I hope it wasn’t my fault…”.  
Daigo held back his own tears. “No…of course it wasn’t, Yamato. You just…”.  
Yamato shushed him.  
“Stop. Dad, just _stop_. If you want to keep on lying to yourself, that’s fine to me…but please, don’t do that to me too. I’ve already been lied to enough”.  
Daigo’s face blanched. A teary lump choked up his throat. His knees got weak once again.  
“You… _you found out?_ ”. _  
_ Yamato sighed and looked at his father in pity.  
“I’m sleeping at Gomaki’s. It’s better if I don’t make things any worse here”.  
He turned away as fast as he could, trying not to gaze back at the man reaching out at him.  
  
A million thoughts rushed to Daigo’s head: no words could ever describe how much he would have wanted to grab Yamato by his arm again, pull him in the fiercest hug he could without ever letting him go, and finally let them cry in silence over each other’s shoulder; but once more, he didn’t have the courage.  
He watched his only love left walk away from him, like his first, foolish one had: and, when he was sure Yamato was far enough, he let himself fall on the living room’s armchair, hiding his face in his hands to finally cry his bitterest tears.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what to say about this work.  
> I had previously already published it here on AO3, but decided to take it down and repost it again since I still wasn't satisfied with the result; you know, this has always been one of the couples I've always been the most "attached" to, and I wanted to write something that could do it justice.  
> I might even write some more "mature" stuff with them in the future, if I ever feel like it.
> 
> Like seriously, Daigo is an hottie. Both he and his son, actually.
> 
> AN: "Engelsgesicht" means "angelface" in German. I first named this fic "Rosenrot" after the Rammstein song, but decided to change it into something more fitting to the form it was taking.


End file.
